Epilogue

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I forgot how long it’s been since I last slept properly. Every night when I close my eyes, I see that mask. The murky brown leather, two deep optical black holes for binoculars, and an equally giant bird like beak protruding outwards in an unforgiving fashion still clouds my mind every hour of the night. Yet, I can’t help but to be intrigued by the mask. The quality of its construction is beyond admirable. All of its minor cuts and scratches show the many years or decades of its use. I would love to wear it for myself…but I’m stuck with…my own. This…plastic face of inadequacy is a true testament of nightmares. Every time I look in the mirror, it only solidifies my ever depilating fear of not remembering what I really looked like. Forgetting one’s self the longer times goes on… is this hell?

I slowly rise from my cushioned armed-chair. It’s a piece of furniture I was gifted long ago, but can’t seem to remember who the donor was. The intricately designed fireplace in front of me only gives my study room the faintest amount of light, paired with the full moon radiating inside as well. My steady stride to the cabinet is echoed by creaks of my wooden floor. I open the swing doors, and I instantly remember why I continue to live. Faces…many faces greet me. They all range from young to old, various creeds and genders. My personal trophies I’ve carefully excavated are always a sight to see. What makes it all the more better, is that I can wear them all with ease. So many of them couldn’t understand my method and made the process so much harder than necessary. They’ll understand…they did understand. So many retaliated and lashed out at me, but I finally made them all see it through my eyes. Now, I can see everything through theirs.

“You really are a special kind of breed, huh?” I hear that screeching noise again as I turn to see the crimson bunny sitting on my chair. I never quite enjoyed its company, as it always seemed to find a way to mock me, toying with me…like sitting in my chair for instance.

After the brief acknowledgement of each other, I turned back around and walk to the dresser stationed next to the cabinet. I open the top drawer and remembered again as to why I continued living this fleeting life. The finest blades to ever exist are in my possession, and I couldn’t be more proud to use them in such a fashion as my hobby. No…hobby wouldn’t be the right word. I would call it my purpose. I’ve lost so much of myself, now I can live different lives and opinions by the very people that never appreciated their own.

“Are you going to skin me now? I know you like doing that, but I’m a bit harder to catch than a regular human.” The thought wasn’t actually on my mind, but now it is. Just how fast is this rabbit really? No, I won’t be able to catch it…but one day. I’ve never worn an animal’s face yet.

“Why are you here little bunny?” I replied impatiently.

“Just checking on you, and wanted to give you some updates on what’s been going on. You’ve been so cooped up in this room; I get worried if you’ve cut your own face off.”

“You’re humor is not appreciated.” I begin to sharpen my blades loudly for the rabbit to hear, back still turned.

“Hmm, sorry, I guess that’s still a sensitive topic for you still.” It knows exactly how I feel in regards to that subject matter. I raise one of my many knives and peered into the reflection to keep the animal in my sight, but only to be reminded of what I will never have again…my own face. I would love to take my frustration out on this rabbit, but we both know I’m not fast enough to catch it. “Sebastian is dead.”

I haven’t heard that name in so long. “…Really? What happened?”

“One of Mr. Plague’s revolting experiments went rogue and decided to attack anybody associated with him. Seems like it did quite a number in such a short time span too, wrecking and ravaging all in its way. Sebastian was unfortunate enough to cross paths with it.”

“Troublesome…where is it now?”

“It’s dead actually. The Interrogator saw fit to draw his blade again.”

“Eugh…his swordsmanship has always been a frightening thing. I never want to see the end of that blade again…”

“Regardless, the being is dead and there’s a new hot shot in town to take Sebastian’s vacant role. Goes by the name of Donovan Pinkerton. Apparently he’s a detective in Chicago, and Plague saw potential to heighten his skills of detection. Whatever that guy wants, he’ll use him to get to it. Everyone’s on edge since he’s gotten him under his wing, but some are going out of their way to get Mr. Donovan on their side, hence the Interrogator’s involvement.”

“He’s always a man of opportunity. Nothing could pass him.” That was partially true. The Interrogator moved in such unpredictable fashions, that every decision he made was somehow not surprising, yet extremely unpredictable at the same time. A man of ambiguity, but with clear intentions all in the same breathe. “I see so much has happened while I’ve locked myself away to my work. This…Donovan…he seems interesting. How does he look? Young…old…his ethnicity for instance?”

“He’s in his mid-thirties, black, bald, approximately six foot. Why? You suddenly showed a good amount of interest in him, are you trying to meet him?”

“Would that be so wrong?”

“No, but what you’ll possibly do might be though.”

“You think so little of me little bunny.” I turn towards the rabbit with one of my many blades in hand. “I haven’t forgotten your purpose of appearance.”

The crimson rabbit jumped from my chair, closer to the fireplace. It was possibly getting cold. “Yes…good or bad luck will come to you. Although your actions will be the final decider on how it plays out. What will you do now?”

It was an intrusive question honestly, but I know why it asked me, that’s its purpose. This rabbit has so much information on many people that I wouldn’t be surprised if it was found gutted and discard in some deserted alley. The liability of it roaming about was astronomically high, but its seamless power to vanish and appear at will provided to be very helpful in the end. The crimson rabbit no one could catch…yet. I looked back at the knife I held dearly in my hand with careful gaze. My face began to shift in color from white to blood red. The hands I use to carefully extract my subject’s faces also changed into a tinted red hue of vigor and malice. I muttered and repeated under my breath, the name of a man I fell so destined to meet. The name of a man who’s face I needed to examine personally.

“Donovan...Donovan Pinkerton. I want-no…I need to see him. For someone to stir up so much conversation…I need to see for myself, what makes his life truly special.”

The rabbit looks at me with great glee. “I can take you right to him. Just say the word.”

I obliged.